


My Son

by kelex



Category: The Blair Witch Project (1999)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelex/pseuds/kelex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Blair Witch claims another set of victims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Son

My son has always been interested in the macabre, the dark side, and sometimes I've wondered if that’s because I failed him somehow, raising him alone after his father was gone.

When those three kids disappeared in the woods, I wasn't a bit surprised when he became fascinated with it. Soon, all around the computer were scattered papers printed out from the internet; his room was littered with newspaper clippings, videotapes, copied photographs, drawings, and books. It was all he talked about.

The one thing that really frightened me was this little… doll that he'd made. It was… well, it was a stick figure, and it was echoed in many of the drawings and papers scattered about the house.

Late at night I would hear him talking to someone, and if I peeked into his room, he was holding the doll in his hands, talking to it. I wondered if it slept with him. 

Doing the laundry one afternoon, I noticed blood on the sleeve of his shirt; calling him into the laundry room, he showed me a tattoo he'd carved into his own skin; the stick figure. I lost my temper then, demanding that he throw everything out, burn it if it wouldn't fit in the trash, to get rid of every article, clipping, photo, and tape. After a day or two, the stuff vanished, and he didn't mention it again.

In hindsight, I should have realized then there was a problem.

I noticed that he was spending a lot of time in the backyard, in the old bomb shelter that the previous tenants had built in the fifties, I think. When I tried to go out and find him, the shelter was locked with a padlock that I didn't have keys to. When I asked him about it, he told me it was a private clubhouse… I wanted to believe it, so I did.

My boss called a few days after that, and I had to go out of town for a week. I'd left my son at home before during my trips, and I saw no reason not to leave him alone again. 

I wish I hadn't.

The rest of this is from his diary; I can't write anymore about it myself, because I still can't believe it… maybe if I recopy it here, it will make some kind of sense.

_I know I can do it. And with Mom going out of town for the next week, now is the time. And as if I didn't know it was time, the throbbing in my arm would tell me. That's how She gets inside me._

_Finally. I've already got one of the children in the cellar. I just have to pick up the second one. Then She says She'll show me everything I ever wanted to know. She is wonderful… I can even hear Her in my head now, She's so close to me. She even says She loves me, and She will show me how much tomorrow night._

_I picked up the second tonight, both boys like She asked. I also stopped by the hardware store and got the axe She asked for. When the clerk asked me what it was for in the middle of summer, I gave him some snow job about clearing out some brush. She said make sure to bring Her doll when I come tonight._

The next few pages… I don't know what they're stained with, but they are brown and brittle… I have a suspicion it's the blood of those two poor children… but I don't dare think about it.

_She does love me! I am Her new Chosen One, Chosen to punish those who transgress against Her will. She says that the two children I brought Her was a good start, but that there are specific children that She wants. She says that their blood is Hers because of what their fathers did. I know what She is talking about, and I swore to Her that I would avenge Her. And She delivered everything She promised… oh, the exquisite feeling of the swinging blade cutting through the small body, the warmth of the blood splattering everywhere, decorating Her new home. And She Herself touched my arm, and Her mark is now burned there instead of just cut… I can still smell my skin where it charred._

_I brought Her two of the children She wanted, and She was so pleased with me that She let me kill them. And then She showed me a secret… She can be physical when She chooses, and She put a bloody handprint on my chest, and it is still there. Together, She and I put them all over the walls, and She even took the hand of one of the children and added their prints to the cinderblock room as well._

_Already they're looking for the four missing children. There are three more on Her list, and She whispers their names in my ear as I search for them, knowing that I will bring them to Her. She whispers promises in my ear as well, promises of pleasure and knowledge and blood. Promises made in blood._

_She is so pleased with me, She tells me! She let me kill two of the three, but took the third for Herself. The walls are covered with handprints, both large and small. Their little bodies are all buried in the dirt floor here, and She told me to make seven little piles of stones over their bodies, which I happily did. Then She sat me down on the ground and closed my eyes, whispering to me the whole time. She told me who She is, why I belong to Her, and the things that we will do together. I told Her that I loved her and would do anything for her._

That's the last page in his diary. I guess I have to finish the story now.

I came home to find my son sitting in the kitchen, covered head to foot in blood, with a bloody handprint in the middle of his chest and an open burn on his arm. I screamed as he came at me with the axe, and I ran into the backyard and into the cellar. I kept screaming as I saw the blood in there, the handprints, the ragged papers and such that hung on the wall, bloodied to unreadability. 

Our neighbor next door heard me screaming, I guess, and he saw my son coming at me with an axe, because he called the police and came into our yard with his gun. He shot my son in the shoulder, but not before my son got to me. 

They put us in the same hospital. My shoulder is bandaged up, and the doctor says that I will heal nicely, that the blade didn't penetrate very far. My son is in the psychiatric ward. They say that he might stand trial, because he seems to know what he did, but he talks about a woman, a woman that he loves that told him to do these things. He says she speaks to him in his mind, and that she marked him. And he just points to the burnt stick figure on his arm. 

I don't think he will ever get out. 

I don't think I will, either, because I swear that sometimes at night, I can hear a woman whispering and cackling in my ear. And now there are footsteps outside my door, and they're not the light treading of the nurse. It almost sounds like… my son.


End file.
